So, I spent a lot of time playing World of Warcraf tlast year, and much more time thinking about it, my old server (Feathermoon), and the other players on my server. The main reason for this was not because the game was good (which if definitely is) but more because of the community on my old server and the RP that it spawned both in game and on the Feathermoon forum.
The following is an RP post that one of the other players posted on the board over a year ago, and was recently reposted when some of the old players were waxing nostalgic. It is a little bit of RP about how the Horde became aware of the true reason behind a planned Alliance attack on the three Horde Capitals. It is my favorite post that I have read on those boards since I started obsessing over that game all those years ago, and I was just curious as to what your reactions to this thing would be, not being familiar with the characters or world.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A darkened room at the Booty Bay Inn.
He held the envelope in old pale shaking hands.
He shot bourbon.
He poured out the envelope on the table.
He shot bourbon.
Fine translucent blue powder spilled onto a cheap polished steel mirror.
He shot Bourbon.
He took the edge of his knife and shaped the powder into a fine spiral.
He shot Bourbon.
He braced himself.
He cursed Shaw under his breath. Cursed the watery-eyed goblin that sold it to him.
He breathed out air.
He breathed in Dreamdust.
He sat back.
The world was on fire.
His thoughts blazed.
His vision blurred.
He shot bourbon.
His hands shook.
He got the sight...
Fourteen days prior.
Sly Troll waxed poetic.
Sly Troll had grit. Sly troll slung plans finer edged than the knives he wore.
Sly Troll talked war.
Sly Troll talked politics.
Sly Troll talked the O.B.
Obie got missed, his moll got hit.
Sly Troll laughed.
Sly Troll talked plots.
Sly Troll spun like a Crystalweb Spider.
Plans within Plans, doublecross, feint, and backstab.
Sly Troll thought like he fought.
Sly Troll had a philosophy.
It made him dangerous.
The Butcher was with him.
The Butcher eschewed philosophy.
The Butcher laughed at plans.
The Butcher was crazy.
Not Bloodlust crazy, people didnt see, people didnt get the Butcher.
Butcher was crazy because he didnt care.
Eat an apple. Stab a man. Breathing never changed.
Hands never twitched.
No Difference.
The clarity made HIM dangerous.
The Butcher said "Just Gut the Obie"
Sly Troll disagreed, got philosophical,
Butcher laughed.
He shot bourbon. His hands shook.
His mind was on fire, he got the sight...
Rosie had doubts.
Rosie felt like a betrayer.
Rosie cried remorse.
Rosie begged for absolution.
Rosie wanted a prayer.
Cicero Prayed.
Rosie believed, wiped tears from her eyes.
Rosie talked hit.
Rosie talked Queen.
Cicero waxed bored. Cicero played nonchalant. Cicero's eyes said "Ive heard this before, tell me more"
Rosie got ancy.
Cicero talked philosophy.
Cicero talked peace.
Cicero lied his ass off, with the smile of a priest.
Rosie got religion.
Rosie squeeled.
Times and Dates.
Troops, setups, double blinds and double feints.
Rosie talked numbers.
Cicero got wise.
Cicero got scared.
Cicero's eyes said "Ive heard this before, tell me more"
Rosie sang a Siren song.
Rosie begged forgiveness.
Rosie dug on greater good.
Rosie clinged for moral absolution.
Cicero smiled.
Cicero lied.
Rosie got religion.
Rosie said "I hope this saves more lives than we lose."
Cicero eyes said "Ive heard it all before, now go home, forgiven."
Cicero lied, Cicero smiled like a priest.
Cicero wrote notes.
Cicero kept dates.
Cicero waxed poetic.
Cicero dropped hints.
Cicero shot bourbon.
His mind on fire, his vision blurred.
He got the sight.
Yesterday.
Obie screamed betrayed.
Obie wanted blood.
Obie knew a rat, could smell'em.
Obie got wise.
Obie was losing religion.
Obie was digging on hate.
Obie was losing his $!@%.
Obie and the Sly Troll where knuckle deep in each other's lungs.
Obie took it personal.
Sly Troll took it political.
Personal makes mistakes.
Political makes sacrifices.
Both got played for fools.
A room in Booty bay, right now..
Cicero got still.
Cicero's vision cleared.
Cicero's mind cooled.
The bourbon helped.
Cicero remembers when he got wise.
Years ago.
Orc Camps.
Slave pits.
Shaw.
Cicero remembers armored knights saying "Gut the children, they'll just grow up monsters too."
Cicero did what he was ordered.
Orcs where messed. Orcs had no will.
Orcs got gutted, standing still.
Cicero HATED Knights.
Cicero HATED Shaw.
Cicero HATED the camps.
Cicero HATED the sheepish, broken Orcs and their mewling filthy brats.
Cicero HATED war.
Cicero dug on HATE.
Cicero numbed the HATE.
Cicero dug on dreamdust, bourbon and wh*res.
The HATE dug on him.
Cicero got religion.
Cicero cleaned up.
Cicero said "no more dreamdust, bourbon or spies."
Cicero got priested.
The Hate dug on him.
Cicero laid low.
The Hate laid low.
The Dreamdust laid out.
Cicero said "one more time, just to see what's going on."
Cicero shot bourbon.
Cicero vision got blurry.
Cicero's mind was on fire.
Cicero Got Religion.
And somewhere thousands of leagues away, in the bitter cold of the North, his prayer was heard.
